Les Cocottes is one of those restaurants I’ve been hearing about for ages. Two years ago, when I visited Paris for the first time, a friend of mine in LA who had spent part of his honeymoon here insisted that I try one of Christian Constant’s restaurants, as he had had his favorite meal of his entire trip at Le Violon d’Ingres.

I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to visit this place, but what better way to visit than with resident expert, Carin? I think she goes to Les Cocottes as often as I go to Frenchie bar à vins, which is kind of saying a lot.

Ravioles de langoustines, mousseline d’artichauts

I started with the langoustine ravioli, which has been lauded far and wide in the Paris blog scene as the entrèe to get, and not without cause. The shellfish was as tender and sweet as any I’ve had, matched perfectly with the rich artichoke mousseline. And hiding the unattractively-colored mousseline under a blanket of creamy foam? Clever trick, that.

All of the dishes here — even the desserts — come in cast-iron Staub cocottes and pans, hence the name. It’s a cute concept, even though lots of these dishes were clearly not actually cooked in the cocottes in which they are served.

This week I learned… something… about restraint… or knowing your limits… or something like that. It’s all kind of a blur really.

So what happened is that my French class partners, Tríona and Oisin, invited me to something called “12 Pubs of Christmas.” Basically, the goal was to hit up twelve different pubs in twelve hours, drinking a beer at each one. We started with a lovely brunch at Tríona and Oisin’s place, where we all looked bright-eyed and chipper in our Christmas jumpers.

Each pub had a rule, such as: you must wear a Christmas jumper, or drink with your non-dominant hand, or not call anyone by their real name. Penalties for rule-breakers included drinking shots and doing Irish dances. Keep this sober, late-morning photo in mind. We degenerated quickly.

I think part of the thing I learned was something about not starting out too strong. There were two options you could choose from to fully participate: drink one pint at each pub (A-team), or one half-pint (B-team). Note that, in Paris, what they call a pint is really 500cl, so the A-teamers would be drinking a total of six liters total. I decided to start out on the A-team, then kick down to the B-team eventually. That decision was my downfall.

So! I took an unintentional blog break last week. Birthday shenanigans plus a sudden influx of work meant lots of late nights and subsequent late mornings. You know how it is. Wine, and beer, and food, and friends, possibly some dancing, and suddenly it feels like the internet can do without you for one more night.

I couldn’t think of a better place to celebrate my birthday than at Verjus. So we went twice… once for drinks with friends in the bar, and once for the tasting menu in the restaurant.

I treated myself to some Grüner Veltliner for my birthday. Grüner is one of my favorite wine varietals, and it’s so hard to find in France! I’ve been asking Laura about this one for ages and finally bought the bottle.

Thanks to Edna, Jackie, Tríona, Oisin, Andy, and the gentleman for the excellent company!

This week, a small group of us gathered at Dans les Landes to celebrate our friend Brad’s birthday.

It turned out to be an excellent choice; a Spanish/French tapas restaurant, Dans les Landes serves lots of shareable, creative small plates. Truffle risotto served in beef bones! Smoked duck and foie gras salad made into maki-like lettuce rolls! Mushroom “cappuccino” soup! Nothing pretentious, just good food and a convivial atmosphere.

And now I’m in Nice, writing from an American-style diner. I got here on Tuesday and the whole week has been a blur of trying to figure out the apartment and the town and realizing more and more that I’m irrevocably addicted to the internet.

This week, we visited the Salon du Chocolat, a huge chocolate expo at the Porte de Versailles. It was a chocolate, and people, overload — perhaps we should have expected it, since there are very few foods that people are more passionate about than chocolate.

Like Elaine from Seinfeld, I’ve always been something of a man’s woman. I have a lot of dude friends and not too many girlfriends. In fact, I remember in first grade that my two best friends were boys. I still talk to both of them on occasion. One is an expat in Vienna and other brews beer. Apparently first-grade me knew how to pick ’em.

But I do crave female company a lot of the time, especially here where friends are precious and few. There’s nothing quite like girl talk. There’s that ineffable quality in women, especially in gossipy one-on-one sessions, that makes me open up a little more than I am usually wont.

Ariane is one of the first friends I met after moving to Paris. She’s an artist. I have never seen her without some kind of sketchbook in her bag or in her hand.

I know I haven’t been posting as often, my lovelies, but that’s because I’ve been out in the city having adventures. But let’s not talk about how much you missed me. Let’s talk about dinner.

Yeah, I know, another long-cooking braise/stew. It’s because I love them, and since this feeds six people and I have two people, leftovers go on forever. I love leftovers.

Or, you can do what I did a few weeks ago when I made this and invite a few people over for an impromptu dinner party. There was a for-reals Frenchman there and even he liked it! Plus one to French cuisine skill.

If a city has a personality, maybe it also has a soul. Maybe it dreams. That is where I believe we have come. We are in the dreams of the city. That’s why certain places hover on the brink of recognition; why we almost know where we are.
— Sandman #51: “A Tale of Two Cities”